Past Dawn
by Enigmatic Insignia
Summary: "He plunged his hands into the dirt and clawed frantically through it until he saw the surface. Two ice-coated cryotubes rest amongst the soil, their contents frozen in deceptive serenity. The cadet pressed off of the ground and stood up to his feet. "Uh, commander?" "Yes, cadet?" "I think this is what we were looking for…" (Post-Into Darkness. First chapter is a prologue.)
1. Prologue

**Prologue **

A clear morning was dawning, not that anyone being held in this makeshift prison would have known. There were no signs of time in the large, metal box of a main hall. A calendar with a frolicking puppy on it was the sole hint of the current month, January 1996. A day on the calendar had been circled in red pen. Three words had been scrawled beside it—"date of execution".

Nearly a hundred prisoners in baggy orange jumpsuits stood chained to the bottom of a steel wall. An electronic tracking device was strung around their necks, blinking intermittently. A warden dressed entirely in gray stood along the line-up. He tapped his pen against his clipboard.

"Seventy five, step forward," he ordered, monotone.

One of the chained prisoners took two slow strides towards the guard. He stood rigidly straight, his expression devoid of any signs of emotion.

"Here," he answered.

The warden looked the prisoner over, wrinkled his nose condescendingly and made a check on the page. He turned back to the line. "Seventy six, forward."

The prisoner at the front of the line stepped back while the man beside him moved forward in perfect unison. The one called seventy six opened his mouth, but failed to speak. The warden cleared his throat impatiently. "Prisoner seventy six, are you present?" he asked, annoyed. Seventy six didn't respond.

The warden leaned in continuously closer to the unresponsive prisoner, not blinking. He stopped just short of their noses touching and clapped his hands loudly over the prisoner's head.

"Did you die on your feet, seventy six? It's two weeks too early. Kick it today, and I'll personally resurrect you like I'm doctor freaking Frankenstein just to see you to the slaughterhouse you lot deserve!" he shouted into the prisoner's face.

What little color seventy six had left in his complexion flushed from his skin. His eyes drifted to the floor, clamming up. The warden grabbed him by the collar and yanked him forward. "Seventy six!"

"Present," the prisoner answered between gasps.

"Damn skippy, you're present," the warden grumbled, letting go. Seventy six stepped back against the wall as quickly as possible. The warden rolled his eyes. "Genocidal pansy artificials, can't even take a little sleep deprivation like men anymore," he murmured to himself. He turned his head to his left, looking down the line. "Prisoner seventy seven, forward."

A well poised, copper-toned figure at the far end of the line took a broad step forward. Her chains jingled as she pulled against the wall. She bowed her head, obscuring her face with the bangs of her bleached platinum hair. "Israfil Del Rosario," she answered, firm yet solemn.

The warden lifted his pen from the page and came to a stop directly in front of her. He raised his pen to the prisoner and jabbed the back of the cap against her forehead. "You will answer as addressed, seventy seven. For all my purposes, that's your name, and my purposes are the only ones here that matter, so get used to it and answer me."

"Present, sir," she answered flatly.

The warden grabbed her beneath her chin, forcing her head to move upright. She kept her eyes focused on the floor.

"To my face, like a person. You remember how to talk, I take it?" the warden sneered.

Slowly, Israfil raised her head to stare directly at the warden. Somehow, the deep brown of her eyes seemed even colder than the cement walls. "Present, sir."

The warden scoffed, still annoyed. "Don't look so proud. You're a mosquito, a flea. You don't deserve a name. You barely deserve the kennel you're going down in. You get that, seventy seven?"

"Present, sir," she answered again

The warden paused in place. He bent over at the knees, lowering his head in an attempt to catch a glimpse of her face from below. "You have anything else to say, or are you going to keep repeating that like a goddamn parrot?"

"Present, sir."

The warden reached to his side holster and pulled out a taser. He pulled down on the trigger, hitting her in the chest with the extending coils, followed quickly by an intense electric shock. The girl's body teetered sideways and collapsed across the ground with a metallic clink. Her arm sparked against the pavement.

The warden lurched back abruptly, moving away from the line of prisoners. He kept one hand on his gun while he reached for his radio transceiver."Security base, we have a code red twelve, escaped prisoner. Keep to protocol. Seal all exits. And send for the second crew. Someone needs to check the cells. Some lunatic replaced themselves with a god-damn robot," he snarled into the microphone.

"Android prototype," prisoner seventy five mumbled lowly.

The warden turned his head away from the fallen body and aimed his gun back at the prisoner. "You have something to do with this, smart ass?"

Seventy five stared back at the warden, not budging.

"Copy, Tanner. Lockdown protocols initiated," a security guard answered through the warden's radio.

As the guard was finishing his sentence, all of the surrounding doors in the holding room slammed to the ground in a single crash. A siren screeched through the hallways. The muffled wail crept through the door and into the main hall. The warden snapped his head towards the nearest door, watching for someone who couldn't possibly be there.

Elsewhere in the prison, a security guard sat behind a row of bulky computer monitors, observing the main holding cell. The guard pulled one side of his headphones off of his ears and twisted in his chair, turning his back to the screens. He exhaled deeply into the back of his hands and hunched forward in his chair, settling in with a yawn.

Just as his eyelids began to flutter shut, a human shaped shadow passed through his peripheral vision. Mildly surprised, the guard opened his eyes back to attention. He stared into the darkness of the doorway behind him. No one was there. The guard turned his head back to the monitors. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

A platinum haired woman with the exact same face as the android hung from a pillar on the ceiling. She descended from the ceiling, landing directly behind the guard without a sound. She grabbed a pen off of his desk and stabbed it straight through the back of his neck. He barely had the time to gasp before his expression froze, dead.

The real Israfil reached her arms around the guard to reach the keyboard. She switched through the security feeds and shut down the cameras, pulling up a loop in their guard's headset began to buzz with static. A garbled message poured through the foam.

"Security base, where are the gates? We need lockdown," the warden demanded.

Israfil wrapped her hand around the top of the radio. She pressed the center button two times, sending a static buzz back. She pressed a red button along the control panel, activating the locks as she rushed out with the radio in hand.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" the warden had started to hiss. A second, lower-pitched beep and a red light flooded the room. The warden lifted the radio away from his ear. He glanced back to the prisoners, watching them warily. The crowd stared right back at him.

The radio static calmed to a faint hum as a new voice joined in. "Cell blocks B through K are secure, sir. No abnormalities. Should I report to holding?"

The warden turned the radio away from the crowd as he spoke into it. He kept both eyes over his shoulder as he did. "And the private cell?"

"That wasn't my responsibility, sir."

"Double check. I don't want that bastard getting out."

"Aye, sir."

The source of the voice stood outside a sealed, plexi-glass door. A waifish man with disheveled curly hair and faintly green eyes stared into the padded cell. An indistinguishable figure in a white straightjacket rest in the corner, his back turned to the wall, barely in sight.

The green eyed man knocked the back of his fist against the door. "Oi, Genghis. Wake up call from the evil overlords," he called through the door.

"Are the others secure?" the dark baritone of Khan's voice called back.

The green eyed man entered a pass code into a pin pad beside the cell. He pressed down upon the handle, opening the door. "Of course they're secure, they're imprisoned," he answered through a smile.

Khan stood from his spot and stepped forward, approaching the doorway. Even in restraints, he was an intimidating figure with slicked-back black hair and olive skin. He kept his stance relaxed as the green eyed man scrambled to unhook his restraints.

"There's a bomb in block D, adjacent to the main holding cell. The Bay is in the basement, north-west access point. We'll have two minutes for evac and two to launch before their re-enforcements are in range of access," the green-eyed man explained, his words so rapid it was miraculous they were more than a syllabic slur.

"Where is Israfil?" Khan asked.

"By the schedule, straight outside the holding cell. She'll escort the crew to launch any second now," he answered.

With his restraints removed, Khan raised his arm. He placed his hand firmly on the other man's shoulder, stoic yet seemingly sincere. "Thank you, Azrael. Tomorrow morning, we shall all owe our lives to you."

Azrael's smile widened hesitantly. He matched his pace to his commander's, walking half a step behind him down the corridor. "With all respect, my Khan, A, I already owed you mine and B, you probably shouldn't say that 'til this works."

Azrael's last words were interrupted by a thunderous boom. A stream of blue-tinted flame, smoke and rubble burst through the building, rocking everything in its path. Azrael paused mid-step, gaping at the scene ahead. "Though that _is _a step in the right direction."

The gap between Azrael and Khan widened as Khan continued to run towards the explosion.

"Azrael," Khan commanded.

Azrael blinked back to attention. He sprinted forward, rushing after Khan.

Smoke, gravel and rubble clouded the air of the demolished holding cell. What moments ago had been a wall was now a gaping hole into the hardly recognizable inner cells. The figures of prisoners and staff alike covered the ground, though one glance was enough to differentiate the two. The guards' faces were melted beyond recognition, scraps of seared flesh and visible bone where a body once had been. The prisoners were covered in soot, scrapes and gray ashes, but were clearly recognizable as human and otherwise intact.

As the smoke cleared, piles of ground began to shift, raising smaller puffs of dust and ashes as the prisoners rose to stand. Their chains rattled against the ground, no longer attached to a wall that didn't exist.

Israfil tossed her head from one side to the other, shaking her hair about. She ran through the obstacle course of support bars and fallen corpses to the center of the room. She stomped her foot against a chunk of the wall, kicking it aside. A block of nine stone tiles, surrounded by crevices, was visible against the floor. Israfil pulled out the security guard's half-melted radio from her pocket. She tapped at the jammed call button, forcing it down.

"Azrael, the access code?" she wiped her hand over the tile as she spoke, clearing the dust off of the keypad. She entered the numbers as she heard them.

"Seven, zero, then five and nine together, three, then seven and one together. Enter."

Israfil slipped her fingernails into the larger crevice beside it and pulled up on the floor board. A series of fluorescent running lights illuminated the stone tunnel below, showing a glimpse of the path.

The speaker in the next room over grew louder, the warning alarm spreading. "Freeze! Any attempts to escape will be shot on sight!"

Israfil rolled her eyes to the siren. She raised a hand into the air and waved it over her head. "Here, now!" she shouted over the alarm.

Most of the prisoners who had been standing turned towards Israfil. They ran towards the opening and leapt into the tunnel.

Once a steady stream had been established, Israfil ran back into the rubble to search for stragglers. A quick glance around was all it took for Israfil to find a blip of orange. She kneeled down beside the unconscious prisoner, wrapped both of her arms around their torso and struggled to pull them out from a large chunk of rock.

The alarm continued to blare behind her, overlapping with her voice. "Freeze! Any attempts to-!"

Exasperated, Israfil let go of her fellow prisoner. She reached towards the gun holster on a fallen guard, pulled out their pistol and fired across the yard. The bullet shot into the speaker, knocking the sound and the red light out.

With a heavy sigh, Israfil tucked the gun into her back pocket. She pulled the unconscious prisoner's arm over her shoulder to anchor him to her and sprinted towards the exit. She grabbed the inner handle of the trap door as she jumped into the tunnel, sealing the passage behind her. The running lights shut off, casting the tunnel in black. Israfil jostled the tracking collar on the prisoner she was holding, turning the flashing light towards the wall. The outlines of her fellows were barely visible around her, but they were there, and it was enough for her to see by.

The filtered lights of the SS Botany Bay filled the underground chamber. The ship stood proudly atop a folding metal platform, directly beneath a trap door. An external command center had been installed beside the ship; gleaming, state of the art technology surrounded by dirt, netting and just enough bars to keep the structure intact. A line of augments rushed on board, following the sound of their commander's voice.

Khan stood within the sleeping chamber beside a cryogenic pod. One of the augments sat within it, plugged in and lying still. He shut the lid of the chamber, enclosing them inside. He raised his head just enough that he could speak to the rest of the room while he moved to the next pod.

"File to the back of the room. Find an open pod. Insert the IV into an accessible artery. We are leaving to colonize. You will awaken when we have landed. Do not stop for questions." he called to them, enunciating every word with authority and determination.

Khan stopped beside the next full pod. His subject looked up to him with a solid stare, silently suppressing their fear. Khan looked to them as he fixed the latch. "I swear on my life, you will be protected," he told them.

It may have been Khan's imagination that he saw the fellow augment's expression relax, but for the moment, he chose to believe it. He placed both hands atop of the lid, slammed it shut and moved on to the next one.

Azrael raced to follow Khan's path, pressing a series of buttons to program each sleep cycle. He hunched over the control panel of the nearest tube, panting heavily. "My Khan, there's barely twenty seconds, we may want to-" he raced to say. Before he could finish, he was interrupted.

"There are three more. I won't leave them behind," Khan stated, still calm. He closed the tube and looked towards the door, waiting.

Azrael rapidly bobbed his head as he activated the last of the filled tubes. He shifted his eyes from his leader to the open door, apprehensive. He began to mouth the numbers, counting down—one, two.

Halfway through two, the faint thud of footsteps began to echo near the door. Khan positioned himself beside the last of the open tubes, removing the IV for access.

Israfil darted into the room, dragging her limp comrade beside her. Azrael chased after her to grab the body's feet. Together, they hoisted it into the open pod.

"He was the last," Israfil stated, speaking to Khan without making eye contact. Once the body was in place, Israfil grabbed one of the arms and pushed up his sleeve, allowing access to a vein.

"What of Kati?" Khan asked while he inserted the IV.

"She was held out of contact. Killed earlier today, most likely," Israfil answered matter-of-factly.

Khan slammed the door to the cryotube shut. He paused for a second longer, trying to maintain an outer calm. Azrael approached behind them, activating the tube.

While they were busy, Israfil walked away. She approached an open cryotube, removed the IV from its side compartment and held it over her head. "Khan," she called.

Khan turned to look at Israfil. His focus fell to the cryotube. "Step inside. I'll situate you."

"No. You," she stated simply.

Azrael stopped beside the control panel. Both he and Israfil stood at perfect attention, staring back at Khan with silent urging.

"Both of you get in your pods. I command it."

Azrael lowered his head slightly. "Due respect, someone needs to launch the ship. Someone being me."

"If we are found before launch, someone must be able to defend him and the ship. Your preservation is more important than mine. Please, forgive my mutiny," Israfil stated.

"I kept prototype tubes beneath the site. External solar sustainment should keep us stable in the rubble if we can ever be retrieved," Azrael added.

It was at that point that Khan realized this had been his team's plan from the start, and nothing he could argue would convince them otherwise. For the sake of his remaining people, he had to accept this.

"Your sacrifices will be remembered," Khan told them solemnly.

Israfil bowed in respect. "Thank you."

Israfil offered a hand to Khan, helping him to lie down inside the cryotube. She rolled up his sleeve, allowing Azrael access to jab the IV in. She shut the tube's door, locking Khan inside.

Azrael raced to the control panel and tapped in the new settings. He and Israfil both ran from the sleeping chamber, outside of the ship.

Azrael paused beside a few keypads as he went, typing in different codes to activate the ship's auto-pilot function. Three high pitched chirps called back to him each time. He sprinted after Israfil, chasing her down the corridor to the launch pad. "Ship's live."

"What's the plan now? Israfil asked as she smoothly rounded a turn into the exit corridor.

Azrael skidded sideways as he turned widely around the corner, struggling to keep up. "For you, get out, and don't touch anything!"

"Not much of a plan." Israfil drew her stolen gun from the back of her jumpsuit as she tread down the stairwell, taking aim at various points as she paced silently towards the controls. Azrael's footsteps thudded behind her.

"Not much of a critique. Stay put if you don't need to shoot something."

Azrael latched onto the railing for support while he trampled down every other step. Israfil stood directly behind the control chair, propping her gun against the back. Her narrowed eyes focused on the door, waiting for something.

Just as Israfil was lowering her head, Azrael slid into the captain's seat. He reached beneath the desk to flip a dial and then pulled two levers simultaneously. He craned his neck to look at an encoded circular screen. A single dot blinked in the center. He smiled in relief.

"Alright, radar's clear, trajectory to orbit should have them out of range in five minutes. Moving on," Azrael swiveled in his chair, shifting positions. He hunched over the keyboard and began to enter code. As he typed, the restraints attaching the ship to its launch deck began to disconnect. The engine whirred lowly with newfound life. "Engine's prepped, locks are removed, and that leaves..."

"What if that something is you?" Israfil interrupted in contemplation, her eyes shifting towards Azrael.

"What something?" he asked to the keyboard, not paying attention.

"The one I need to shoot."

Azrael shrugged half-heartedly "Then wait 'til I have this ruddy ship in the air. Launch site clearing, and," he paused in anticipation. The trap door above them began to split apart, casting flecks of dirt and daylight into the room. Azrael snapped his fingers in front of himself, grinning proudly at the sky. "Yes! Would've been a terrible time to fail."

Azrael peeked over his shoulder, looking to the wall behind him. "Isra, is the door clear?"

"No. It's metal."

Azrael failed to stifle a snicker. "Close enough. Dive under the platform, prep the tubes. Twenty seconds. I'll be there."

Israfil ducked under Azrael's control panel and sprinted towards the ship. She struggled not to sigh. "You have the least effective clock of anyone I've ever met, by the way."

"I've been a mole for three months, what do you expect?"

With that said, Israfil sprinted forward. She slid feet-first into a second pit beneath the Bay's landing platform. Azrael wrapped both hands around the edge of his desk, his knuckles turning white from tension as the SS Botany Bay lifted into the sky.

"Three seconds," he murmured under his breath in awe and anticipation.

"Azrael!"

Startled from his trance, Azrael shot up to attention. He switched one final dial, setting a spark alongside the wall. He stumbled away from the desk, sprinted to the pit beneath the launch pad and jumped inside.

The platform cast a shadow across Azrael and Israfil, blocking the daylight and the spectacle of a space-ship from view. Azrael stumbled to keep his balance and failed, crashing to the floor.

Israfil stood inside an upright cryotube, her IV already plugged into her arm. She stared at Azrael with the closest thing to a glare as she'd come to expressing. "If you leave me alone here, I'll kill you."

Azrael grinned widely back at her, amused by something. "I'm not convinced you won't regardless."

Azrael pressed both hands against the ground, forcing himself back to his feet, chuckling under his breath. He kicked the base of Israfil's cryotube's door. The door clicked shut. Another siren sounded faintly in the distance. "Police. Worst they can do is be a lay witness," he whispered to himself.

Azrael lifted his head, trying to stare past the metal platform blocking the way to catch one last glimpse of his stolen ship rising into the cloud-covered sky. All he could see was the outline of gray tufts and a coming storm.

With a deep breath, Azrael reached into his pocket. He took out a cigarette and lit it, cradling the end between his fingers. "I wonder if they'll name a school after me. Or a city. A city might be nice," he murmured. He brought the cigarette to his lips and inhaled a single drag, savoring the moment.

The instant he had taken in what he could, he tossed the cigarette and the lighter across the room. He stepped into his cryotube and shut the door behind him. An artificial eruption boomed around him as the dirt chamber collapsed upon itself, burying the cryotubes in a cushion of darkness.

Two wires attached to the tubes ran through the dirt, rock and water to a point two miles away, into the center of a single, barren cactus. Needle-shaped sets of solar panels pointed to the sun, taking in the light and the blaze of a prison that supposedly never existed.

* * *

**Two Hundred and Sixty Four Years Later**

A pair of Federation excavators stood in the center of an eviscerated crater, sifting through the dirt. Fragments of pillars and faded netting were scattered through the dry soil. The younger of the two kneeled to the ground, picking up a thin, unfurling strand of net between his glove-covered fingers. "Of all the excavation sites the academy could pick, it's a desert. Again. Why aren't we ever sent somewhere nice, like Hawaii? They've still got sand in Hawaii," he asked through a sigh.

The senior officer continued to wave his metal detector, undeterred. "Stop complaining, cadet. They give us a job, we've got a job."

The cadet loosened his grip, allowing the net to slip from his fingers. He placed one hand firmly against the soil, grabbed a scoop from his pocket and plunged it through the surface half-heartedly. "Yeah, but, seriously. Why here? That prison barely even exists. What do they think we're going to find? Some super-mater disintegrator set to destroy mankind?"

The senior officer closed his eyes, ignoring the other as best as he could. "We don't know. That's why we're looking. It's risk mitigation."

"Then digging anywhere is risk mitigation. Nothing special about this place."

The officer turned off the switch on his metal detector. He paused to stare at the cadet's back. "No one's resting easy after that monstrosity got out last year. If he's got extra resources, the Fed needs to be sure they're sealed up damn tight. What if he got out again and he had something waiting?"

"I'd want someone else to have found it first," the cadet said frankly.

"Then you picked the wrong department," the officer started to snap.

As the cadet had been preparing to speak, he plunged his shovel back into the dirt. Any words that had been building in his throat were replaced by a metallic clink.

Startled, the cadet pulled his shovel from the sand. He pressed his hand into the ground to feel the spot under him. A chill passed through the leather glove, into his hand. He pulled his hand from the dirt and raised it into the air. Blotches of frost coated his fingertips.

The cadet's eyes widened, breathless with shock. He plunged his hands into the dirt and clawed frantically through it until he saw the surface. Two ice-coated cryotubes rest amongst the sand, their contents frozen in deceptive serenity.

The cadet pressed off of the ground and rose to his feet. "Uh, commander?"

"Yes, cadet?"

"I think this is what we were looking for…"

Fully expecting some kind of joke, the officer turned around. The instant he saw the dirt below, he froze in place. His metal detector slipped from his hand. "Holy shit."

A few seconds of staring later, the officer gathered the will to step forward. He planted his feet beside the cadet's while he stared at the perfectly parallel tubes. "Do you know what these are, kid?"

"It looks like a popsicle case, but for people," the cadet mumbled.

"That's… way more correct than it has a right to be."

The cadet adjusted his position, standing closer to his commanding officer. He turned his head so he was staring directly at him, waiting for a cue. His trembling hand hovered beside the officer's arm.

The officer turned his stare fully on the tubes as he began to explain. "It's a cryogenic freezing tube. Primitive technology. It's the same type of device that was holding the genetic…"

Three of the cadet's fingers burst through his glove, his fingertips reforming into sharp claws. The claws shot out in a straight line, piercing through the officer's arm, into his torso and finally out of his head. The officer gurgled, struggling and failing to speak. He froze mid-sentence, this time permanently.

The cadet flexed his fingers, melting the material into an opaque, viscous fluid. The talons retracted from the officer's body. Within seconds, the liquid pulled back into a set of seemingly human fingers. The officer's corpse collapsed to the ground.

The cadet flicked his wrist, shaking off the blood. He shifted his eyes from one side of the plain to the other. No one was there.

In an instant, his entire being shifted into a featureless human form of the same gelatinous material. A new face emerged from the mass. This time, his hair had shifted from his head to a goatee, his face was wrinkled with at least fifty years of age, his jaw was wider and his eyes were sharp with crows' feet markings, yet they exuded an undeniable kindness.

The reformed creature stepped into the spot between the two cases. He bent over and poked a single key on the side controls, releasing one of the locks.

A wave of mist burst from beneath the door, allowing the outside temperature to sneak into the cryotube. The internal heater churned with new found life. The heavy layers of frost melted away, revealing a much clearer image of Israfil's delicate, sleeping face. Within moments, her chest and throat began to move, breathing.

The creature reached his hand into the cryotube. He brushed his open fingertips against her jacket. Her rich brown eyes, almost burgundy in the sunlight, snapped open. Her pupils dilated instantly to the changing light. The creature smiled down at her.

"Good morning."


	2. The Known Unknown

**Chapter One**: The Known Unknown

There were a hundred things James Kirk could be doing at this moment, and at least half of those options would have been relevant to the Enterprise's mission. Instead, he was sitting on a bed in the medical bay with one sleeve rolled up, waiting for a test he didn't need. The only part which made this remotely tolerable was the company.

Kirk propped his forearm carelessly against his knee while he craned his head over his shoulder. "I'd ask why we didn't do this yesterday if I didn't know we already had. You miss me that much?" he joked.

"Yeah, Jim, you caught me. I destroyed your blood work on purpose just to get you down here," Bones answered, his voice saturated with sarcasm.

Kirk leaned back against the wall, turning his head just enough to follow Bones' path. He maintained a smirk even while he spoke. "How is that possible? Isn't that supposed to take about three seconds?" he asked.

"When it works. The tricorder broke while processing the sample." Bones adjusted the settings on his medical tricorder as he approached the table. He removed a probe from the base of the device.

"So, even it thinks this is a waste of—ow." While Kirk was busy speaking, Bones jabbed the probe against Kirk's arm, taking the sample. Kirk flinched instinctively.

"If you're going to stab me, can't you at least ask permission?" Kirk asked. He lifted his hand, reaching for the point of contact.

Before Kirk could graze it, Bones pat his hand over the supposed injury and stepped away. "Suck it up, kid, it didn't even break skin. Stay put. This time, you're waiting here." Bones re-attached the probe to the base of his tricorder. He continued to watch the screen.

"Next time, you should invite me out for drinks. There's a port at Argelius II. You could find a girl, scare her off by frowning too much and wallow in drunken misery while I have a good time for both of us," Kirk quipped.

"Great idea, Jim. And tomorrow, you can captain a hundred men with a hangover."

"Killjoy."

Growing impatient, Kirk stood up. He took a few steps forward, approaching the doctor. "Seriously, Bones, we have to re-stock somewhere. We may as well enjoy it."

He was answered by the ding of the tricorder. Bones stared at the display, reading and re-reading the information. His eyebrows furrowed at the sight of it. "Your immune system's overactive, but it's not detecting a pathogen," he stated, sounding troubled by this in a way that Kirk failed to grasp.

"What, I had a cold?"

"Something's not right, that's what. I'll have to look at this more closely. Don't move." Bones set his tricorder back in its side container. He snatched a hair off of Kirk's head as he walked past.

Kirk raised his hand to his head, pressing his hair down. "What will that even do?"

Bones stopped beside one of the lab tables. He placed the piece of hair between two glass plates to seal the potential sample shut. "It'll cooperate."

At this point, not even joking around could get rid of the bigger issue here. Kirk let out a silent, impatient sigh, anticipating how little this would help, but he had to say it anyway.

"You've been going on with this cryptic crap for a year and a half. I wasn't dying and I'm not now," Kirk stated firmly.

Bones' eyebrows tilted in wordless disapproval. "You did die, Jim."

"Not from some galactic bacteria or whatever the hell else you're thinking it is. Have fun obsessing over nothing. I'm going to transport."

Before there was an opportunity for Bones to argue against him, Kirk began to walk towards the door. The automatic door slid open as he approached it. Bones set his slide down on the countertop and started to stride after him. Kirk increased his pace almost the same amount, avoiding him.

"If you don't wait, I can report you unfit for duty," Bones called to Kirk's back.

"On what grounds?"

"Recklessness, emotional distress and being a goddamn idiot!"

The sound was loud enough to make Kirk stop in the doorway. "Are you sure that's not you? You're delaying a mission because maybe I had an allergy."

As Kirk was just about to pass through the door, Bones took a few sprinting steps towards him. He grabbed Kirk by the shoulder, holding him in place. "Damnit, Jim, whatever it is you keep avoiding, you've made less sense than putting hot sauce in sweet tea. It isn't gonna stop until you talk about it or you get yourself killed, again."

Kirk placed one hand against the door frame. He looked back at Bones with a defensive glower. "You're a doctor, not my therapist. I'm telling you, I'm fine."

"That's reassuring," Bones said flatly.

The speakers in the medical bay switched on with a simultaneous crackle. Another voice called throughout the room, drawing Kirk and Bones' attention to the ceiling. "Captain, we have arrived at the designated point of access. Have you received medical clearance for your departure?" Spock asked, his voice echoing through the room.

Kirk reached into his pocket to take out his communicator. He flipped it open and spoke into it. Send Chekov to the transporter. I need someone to work the tricorder. I'll be there in five."

"You have not answered my question."

"Yeah, I'm set. Kirk out," Kirk lied. He grabbed Bones' hand inside of his own and pulled it off of his shoulder. "My pulse is steady. My vitals are clear. If I was any other officer, you'd have already told me to go," he stated, much calmer but still authoritative.

"You'd better check in when you're back on board," Bones hung on the end of his sentence, implying a second clause somewhere along the lines of 'or I'll wake you up at three in the morning and force you back here'.

Kirk smiled smugly back. "When you find out I'm right, you can buy me a drink for giving me a headache."

With that said, Kirk stepped through the door. He rounded a corner down the corridor and out of sight. The door sealed behind him.

Bones turned his back to the door. He walked across the room, back towards the counter. He switched on a microscope and picked up the glass plates of Kirk's sealed hair. He held the plate in his hand, examining the surface. It appeared to be sealed. He placed the plate into the microscope's stage and leaned towards the eyepiece.

Just as Bones was about to take a look, the speakers switched back online. Spock's voice sounded through the empty medical bay. "Doctor, what were the reports on the Captain's medical status?" he asked.

Bones pulled away from the microscope. He looked to the speaker. "I don't have a goddamn clue."

* * *

"Please state your name, Hayato Yamada," a robotic voice sounded through the featureless white chamber. A thirty-something Asian man in a lab coat stood in the center of it, holding his badge to the camera in front of him. He squinted at the lens, puzzled.

"You already said my name. Why would that even help?"

"I'm sorry. Our systems do not recognize that as a registered user. Please state your name."

"Hayato Yamada," the man repeated.

"Access cleared."

The line of a shadow cast across the back of the room as the door in front of him split apart. The wall descended into the ground, allowing the rest of the room to come into view. The expanse of the monochromatic reception area was almost as intimidating as the impeccably uniformed officer who was staring at a monitor on the adjoining wall. A live feed of the white chamber moved across the display.

"Voice recognition and tone monitoring. It's checking for eye movements, blood pressure, anything that might arise if someone's not worth trusting. Surely, you understand," the officer stated to the wall, calculated confidence emanating from every word.

The supposed Yamada his head, bowing in respect. "My apologies, vice admiral. It was only, I would've expected a password," he fumbled to explain.

"More nerve-wracking to stand by and announce yourself with a guilty conscience, or at least that's what the bull-shitters down at research and development had to say." The vice admiral waved his hand towards himself, signaling the other man to come inside. "I was told you had business with me?"

Yamada followed the gesture, entering the reception room. The wall to the security scanner slowly sealed behind him. "Yeah. I mean, yes. Doctor Cothi from the second division sent a request of subject transfer to Dublin. She wanted to ensure that the subject is ready as scheduled."

"That would depend on what the subject is."

"Cryotube alpha one. John Harrison."

The vice admiral paused, questioning internally if he had heard that right. Yamada stared back, tense with enough expectation to not be kidding.

"Well, someone's still a dreamer. She's asking for death in a tin can," the vice admiral said, struggling not to roll his eyes as he did so. "Tell her to send a formal request and proposal to the admiral and come back in a year. It'll take that long to book that catastrophe a shuttle ticket."

"We did, sir. The admiral cleared us yesterday," Yamada answered without hesitation.

The vice admiral paused again. "If that were true, I would've been notified long before you sauntered through my security," he argued.

"I swear, until two minutes into this conversation, I thought you had been."

The vice admiral and Yamada both paused for a moment, staring at each other from opposite sides of the room. Uncertainty hung between them. Yamada swallowed his tension.

"Would you mind checking the database? If she's submitted the clearance forms wrong, she'd want to know, so we can fix it," Yamada asked meekly.

Without a word of what he was doing, the vice admiral turned his back to Yamada and walked away. Yamada stood by, watching through narrowed eyes and general confusion as the vice admiral approached a desk. The vice admiral swiped his hand across a desk to turn on a monitor. He opened the intranet browser and ran a search on in-progress transfers. Sure enough, a sanctioned order from Dr. Cothi was listed among them.

With a deep breath that looked suspiciously like a sigh, the vice admiral turned off the monitor. "When exactly was Ms. Cothi hoping to pick up her psychopathic popsicle?" he asked across the room.

Startled by the sudden sound, Yamada rocked forward on his feet. "Today. Our crew's on standby."

The vice admiral hunched partway over the desk, unintentionally ducking out of view. He dialed a string of numbers against the blank glass and pressed a button on the desk, turning on the microphone inside. "Abernathy, Jackson, Kwon, please locate Green and bring him to the lower storage bay. Retrieve article 27-bz-92 and bring it to the north wing shipping dock. Keep a generator on hand while you do. It needs to be stable if you don't like spikes through your head," he commanded with calm authority.

A speaker built into the desk answered back. "Roger, sir. We'll be there in ten."

The vice admiral released the button. He turned his focus back to Yamada, watching him through a stare so sharp a knife would envy it. "Pull your ship out back. Green and Abernathy'll stay with you until it's situated. Log your crew and ID number with the front desk. I'll send my confirmation to clear you for entry," he explained.

Yamada smiled as subtly as possible. "Thanks, vice admiral. I apologize for the inconvenience."

The vice admiral stepped away from the computer. He shrugged. "Admiral gave her custody. Far as I'm concerned, I should put up a banner wishing it bon voyage," he dismissed, a little more annoyed than he had intended to show. He turned his back to Yamada and left the room.

Yamada stood his ground, observing the vice admiral until he was out of sight. He rolled up his sleeve and turned on his communicator.

Far outside of where Yamada was staying, a Federation freighter was waiting away and above an agricultural facility. Somehow, the ship's long, almost pistol-shaped frame made it appear small and bulky at the same time. The top nettle was inscribed with the identification number NCC-F1913; the USS Huron. The controls, which had been designed for three people, were currently being manned by two. Israfil sat facing the rear console, monitoring the controls. On the opposite side of the bridge, Azrael sat on the floor between two chairs, typing frantically at his control board. The section 31 administration page shined across the view-screen.

"Serra, pull the ship to the north dock. We've been cleared," Yamada's voice sounded through the bridge.

"Thank god. I've seen pyramids with fewer encryptions than their channels. Three more seconds and it'd driven me mad," Azrael spoke back to the screen, pausing mid-sentence as he struggled to multi-task.

Israfil's eyes shifted towards Azrael in a dull stare. "I was fairly sure you were mad already."

Azrael forced a lopsided smile. "Madd_er_," he corrected. He leaned towards the helmsman's side of the controls, toggled to an exterior screen and flew the ship towards the building.

About ten minutes and two arguments about directions later, the USS Huron backed up to a shipping bay along the north side of the greenhouse tower. The setting sun shone through the glass walls, sending slight glares through the ship's window. Azrael remained focused on the exterior screen. The supposed Yamada stood at the side ledge of the docks, waiting.

The center of the dock slid open, revealing a ramp beneath the building. A crew of four people in uniform marched along each corner of a long cart. The sealed cryotube rest between them. The officer at the front left corner lifted his head to Yamada. "Which way inside?" he asked.

Yamada waved his hand in front of him, limply gesturing along with his instructions. "Straight up the ramp, round the left. There're restraints in the center. You'll know."

The leftmost officer nodded his head. He gave a forceful tug on his side of the cart and pulled the cart forward. The other three officers soon followed. They strode in unison up the ramp, towards the cargo bay. The cart rocked forward over the hump between the ramp and the floor, shaking slightly. Yamada pulled his hands behind his back and followed behind them.

The cargo bay was wide enough to hold a two-story home, yet it was strikingly barren. Only three boxes stood in the corner, all of which were sealed. A ladder planted at each side gave access to the upper deck which ran around the room.

Israfil stood along the back of the deck, observing the group from afar. Her hand hovered over a switch on the wall, waiting. The cart's wheels bounced against the surface as the final man stepped inside. She flipped the switch.

The leftmost officer raised his head. He squinted at the upper decks. He could vaguely make out the image of movement as Israfil strode gracefully along the wall. He opened his mouth, bracing to say hello.

Before a word could escape him, an electrical charge pulsed through the floor. The pulse ran into the metal cart and through the officers' hands, searing them instantly. All four of the officers' bodies convulsed as they collapsed to the ground. The leftmost officer's face pressed against the floor. Another spark ran through it, burning his cheek.

With his hands still behind his back and his head held low, Yamada stepped off of the ramp. He pressed two buttons on his wrist. The loading ramp began to rise, slowly sealing them inside.

As the light faded, Yamada's face began to twist, morphing back into his chosen default form. His hair pulled back into his body, a full beard grew from his face and his eyes began to widen and sink simultaneously.

Israfil extended her hand, turning the lights back on. She placed one hand on each side of the ladder and stared down to the lower level. "Should I dispose of the corpses, Osullo?"

"Set them outside. They'll need to file the report," the shape-shifter answered succinctly. He walked further into the ship, turning his back to her in the process.

Isra steadied one hand on each side of the ladder. She slid down the poles and landed cleanly on the floor. She stared down the long corridor, watching Osullo's back. "Shall I deactivate the cryogenic process?"

"Wait. We'll transfer to a proper starship with medical personnel. I'm trusting you're capable of removing the cargo!" Osullo shouted back, sounding authoritative yet kind and being as deceptive as ever.

Israfil stood alone in the near-vacant expanse of the cargo bay. She tapped her foot against one of the officers, nudging his body aside. She placed one hand on each side of the cart and rose onto the tips of her feet, examining the cryotube. She could barely see the outline of a body through the freezing condensation. Israfil raised a hand and wiped it across the glass. Her eyes lingered on the vague impression of Khan's face. "We'll have you soon, I promise," she whispered softly.

As Israfil continued to lose herself in the moment, the intercom flipped on. Azrael leaned too close to his microphone, sending a pulse of static even when he wasn't speaking. "Oi, Isra, did you get him?"

Israfil let go of the cart. She grabbed one of the corpses in a backwards embrace and hoisted it up. "We have the capsule. Whether it's Khan has yet to be determined." she stated, doubtful.

"Well, that's disconcertingly ambiguous," Azrael muttered.

As Israfil prepared to walk away, her focus drifted back towards the cryotube. Her rigidly straight posture seemed to soften with uncertainty. "...But it has to be."


	3. Officers and Khan's Men

**Chapter Two:** Officers and Khan's Men

A canopy of vines obstructed the view of the equally monochrome sky. The plain in front of him was exactly that; indistinct and expansive. Rocks and pillars of wilted vegetation covered the ground. Kirk stood on top of a mound of gray sand, taking in the scenery with the same lack of amazement it inspired. He activated his communicator and spoke into it.

"Captain's log, stardate 2260.122. The crew has located a previously uncharted satellite in the outer arm of the alpha quadrant. It appears to be in orbit of a fellow planet. Ensign Chekov and I have beamed down to investigate. We have yet to encounter intelligent life. We have, however, found what looks like a large apple wearing a porcupine."

Kirk's eyes shifted below. A large, brown sphere covered in coarse spikes sat on the ground. Gray leaves attached the sphere to the base of a vine, making it look like some kind of plant. Kirk kicked at the object, rolling it over. Its spikes sank slowly into the damp ground. He grabbed it by the stem and dangled it overhead.

"Have you scanned this thing yet?" Kirk shouted across the bay.

Chekov poked his head around a vine a few vines away, glancing back at Kirk. "Yes, sir. The biological patterns say it's a seed."

Right back to being bored, Kirk let the stem slip from his grasp and lowered himself to the ground. He stared at the surface of one of the boulders, specifically a lump of fungus growing from it. Forcefully oblivious to this, Chekov continued to type into his tricorder.

"I've logged the topography as well, captain."

"Anything I should know?"

"The sensors detect movement beneath the soil. Vibration patterns match for bugs or water."

Kirk raised his finger an inch above the fungus, considering whether or not to touch it. "You know what kind of bug?"

As Kirk was finishing his sentence, a flicker of movement crossed through the corner of his eye. He snapped his head to his left, searching for the source. A pudgy, arm-long critter with tan fur was wriggling its way out of the sand.

"…I'd guess it's this kind," Kirk muttered.

The instant the creature saw Kirk, it stopped in place. Two fuzz-covered flaps emerged from each side of its head, each one containing an eyelid. It opened its unnaturally wide, white eyes and stared back at Kirk. A visible quiver ran through it.

Kirk held his ground and his breath as much as possible. It was the first sign of life they'd seen all day, and he wasn't going to be responsible for scaring that off. He inhaled through his nose and spoke as softly but clearly as possible. "Hey, Chekov. Come over. I need you to scan this thing."

"Coming, coming. Scanner at ready." Chekov began to step around the vine, towards Kirk's side.

The moment Chekov stepped forward, the critter's side flaps opened wider. It began to slide backward, scurrying away. Kirk reflexively reached out to grab the creature. The sudden movement caused it to stop mid-motion. Kirk wrapped both of his hands around its torso, gently holding it in place.

"Can you go any quicker with that?"

Kirk lifted his head just enough to see Chekov approaching his side. Chekov pointed the scanner at the creature's head, away from Kirk's grasp. The tricorder beeped with confirmation. "Sensors read it's a synapsid mammalian creature, species undocumented," Chekov read off the screen.

"Guess it was just bug-like."

Kirk placed one hand firmly over the creature's head while he glanced back up at his surroundings. At least five other similar creatures were also wiggling across the ground in a slow circle. "Pull the tranquilizer from the side compartment. The bio team will want to take a look on base."

"Yes sir," Chekov nodded. He opened a compartment at the back of the tricorder, taking out a small syringe.

Chekov clutched the needle firmly in hand and leaned closer to the creature. He raised the needle towards its back. As the needle drew closer, the creature began to writhe dramatically, shaking Kirk's arm along with it.

"Can you move your hand, captain? I have to aim away from you."

"And let go of the tribble worm, sure," Kirk said sarcastically.

A fifth opening on the worm's back flipped open directly above Kirk's hand. The flap snapped shut, closing Kirk's hand beneath it. Kirk flinched, gritting his teeth. He stood up and snapped his hand away. The creature opened its mouth, releasing Kirk from its grasp. The thin piece of fluff dangled in mid-air, pulled upright by an even narrower gray cord. The cord shook beneath the ground, swirling the surface below into an invisible funnel. Three claws with calloused gray skin rose from the sand.

Kirk and Chekov rushed out of the growing chasm, just far enough to reach stable ground. Chekov stumbled to maintain his ground. Kirk drew his phaser from his belt.

All six of the supposed creatures lifted up against the sky, suspended by the swaying gray tails of a substantially larger torso still emerging from the ground. The full body of the mammal had the proportions of kangaroo, the texture of an elephant, three legs and no obvious head. Its tails swerved in a serpentine pattern overhead, encircling Kirk and Chekov.

"боже мой," Chekov murmured in shock.

"Hello, friendly." Kirk aimed his phaser at the creature, bracing to strike.

"Have you located anything of interest, captain?" Spock's voice sounded through the communicator.

"That depends. How interested are you in a hydra with its head on its ass?"

"If you have encountered intelligent life, federation protocol would be to attempt contact—"

In a single swoop, all six of the faux-heads descended in opposite directions. The attached tails pulled around Kirk and Chekov, trying to ensnare them in a knot.

"I don't think it's that intelligent!"

Kirk fired a shot at the nearest head to him, trying to stun it. The head froze for about two seconds before snapping at him once more.

Chekov wrapped one arm around the tricorder to shield it. He swiped at the creature with the syringe, barely knocking one head back. Two other heads swooped towards Chekov's back. Kirk turned around and fired one shot at each head, stunning them temporarily.

"Run!"

Chekov moved his head so slightly it could barely count as a nod. He sprinted forward.

One of the other heads swooped on Kirk's back, biting him in the neck. He swiped at it with the back of his phaser, knocking the head away from him.

Chekov grabbed Kirk by the arm, pulling him forward. "This way."

Kirk sprang after Chekov, falling into an equal pace. He kept his phaser pointed over his shoulder, shooting as they ran. The creature lifted its front leg and began to gallop after them. The ground shook under its weight, sending waves through the sand as it lumbered forward one leg at a time. Its tails outstretched as far as possible, reaching towards the two.

The road ahead was covered in brush, branches and what appeared to be plants. Amongst the vines, a large rock stood to their left. Chekov veered left towards the boulder. He waved his hand, beckoning Kirk to follow him seconds before he ducked behind the boulder. He flattened himself against the ground. Kirk slid into place beside Chekov. He propped the barrel of his phaser against the base of the rock and continued to fire with astonishing precision. Every single shot was making contact. In spite of that, the creature didn't even flinch as it kept moving towards them and the rock.

Kirk curled one knee closer to his chest, bracing to move for it. He slid his phaser across the rock, pushing it to Chekov. "You shoot."

"But, captain..."

Before Chekov could argue, Kirk had already started running away from the rock. Four of the creature's six heads pointed in Kirk's direction. The creature altered its course, running towards Kirk. Chekov wrapped his hand around the phaser. He attempted to shoot at the back of the creature's heads, struggling to keep it at bay. He braced himself to move if necessary.

Kirk wrapped his arm around a vine, forcing himself to a sudden stop. He reached for a root and yanked up, pulling out one of the spiked seeds. He twisted the seed off of its stem and held it as steadily as his ground. His feet sank into the sand with each approaching stomp.

As all six heads prepared to descend on him, Kirk threw the seed away from himself. The seed soared through the air and into the horizon. The creatures' heads pointed away from him. It galloped towards the seed, away from them.

Kirk held his breath and his position, completely still until the creature had left. He raised his foot out of the ground. A stream of sand poured from his shoe. Kirk grabbed a second seed off of the same vine, tucked it under his arm and reached for his communicator once more. "Scotty, beam us up. We're done here," he commanded.

As the creature ran into the distance, Chekov rose back to his feet. His hands and his stare were both on the verge of shaking. "How'd you know that would work, captain?"

"I didn't. I meant to hit its face."

A wave of warm light began to envelop both Kirk and Chekov, freezing them in place. The familiar walls of the transporter room appeared around them as the opposite also occurred. In the moment before Kirk regained the ability to move, he noticed both Scotty and Spock were waiting on the other side, each one expectant for a presumably different reason.

"I was starting to think you'd never call," Scotty joked.

"At the risk of being redundant, that was a blatant disregard of protocol," Spock stated.

When Kirk regained the ability to move his face, he smiled at Spock. "Hello to you, too."

Kirk strode casually off of the transporter pad and into the control room. Chekov followed a few steps behind him, still in a daze. Kirk leaned against the control panel without touching anything and turned towards Scotty.

"You up for a drink, Scotty?" Kirk asked, tentatively optimistic.

"As soon as we dock this ship, count me in. I haven't had a glass since Wednesday."

Kirk dropped the over-sized seed on the floor and nudged it under the desk. He turned his head again, this time towards Chekov. "Chekov, get cleaned up. Set a course for Argelius II. We need a break, and by break I mean whiskey. A lot of it."

Chekov figuratively pulled himself back to attention. "Yessir, immediately." He placed Kirk's phaser against an open spot on the desk and left the room.

"I doubt that becoming intoxicated is conductive to your emotional recovery," Spock remarked.

Kirk took his phaser off of the desk. He adjusted the settings as he set it into his back pocket. He walked past Spock as he headed towards the door. "Doesn't stop it from being fun. I'll assume you don't mind being the designated officer?"

"Under the conditions of your proposed behavior, it is vastly preferable from the alternative."

"Great. It's settled."

Scotty stood up from his seat. He placed one hand on top of the unidentified spiky seed and tried to push it. The key word in that statement was tried. No matter how hard he kicked the seed, it still wouldn't budge. Scotty looked back at Kirk's neck with mild exasperation. "Ey, tall, dark and demanding, can you move your freakish giant crabapple off my floor?"

By the time Scotty had finished asking, Kirk had already left. The door sealed behind him.

* * *

A muted burning sensation covered his entire body as blood rushed through him. The fact that he could realize this proved something to Khan. He was awake again.

"Pulse at thirty beats per minute. Stability gaining," a familiar, moderately high-pitched voice sounded overhead. The words were muffled by the whirs of machinery and the thick walls of the cryotube, but even in darkness, he could hear her.

"Blanket and hot jelly ready for dispatch," a different voice said.

"Aren't you in charge of treatment?"

"Yes, but my cocoa didn't keep well."

Khan pushed against his eyelids, forcing them open. His eyes dilated instantly. The gray walls of the interior, muted by the frost-covered cryotube door, seemed to be moving in on him the longer he watched it. He fought off his body's resistance and turned his neck towards the noise. "Israfil, Azrael," he called.

Israfil sprinted over to the cryotube. She clasped both hands around the handle and yanked the door open. A cloud of cold air rose into the laboratory. She folded her arm over her chest and bowed deeply in respect.

Azrael stood on the opposite side of the cryotube, stirring a mug of blue liquid with a spoon. He stopped the movement mid-stir when he heard Khan speak. "Holy hell, it is you."

"May glory follow you in all its forms," she spoke towards the floor.

"As to you. Please, rise," Khan commanded.

Still uncomfortable, Israfil rose to her feet. She placed one hand along the cryotube's edge and stared at him in astonishment. "You've been awake before this?" she questioned, sounding worried.

Khan sat up inside of the tube. He reached for the IV, removing it from his arm. "Yes, I have. It is a relief to have your company."

Azrael tucked the spoon behind his ear. He clutched the mug in both hands as he walked to the cryotube. He extended the mug to Khan. "So who pulled a Michael Jackson on you?"

Israfil's eyes narrowed at Azrael's neck, silently exasperated. "You can't honestly be giving him that."

"I'm not dishonestly giving it to him. It's non-caffeinated sugar, it'll quell hypothermia."

"You had it in your pocket for three hundred years."

Khan took the cup by the handle on each side. He raised it to his mouth and took a sip. Azrael tossed the blanket around Khan's shoulders as Khan paused to speak. "I was surgically altered by a man by the name of Marcus to conceal my identity from his superiors. The implanted substance was self-designed to avoid deterioration," he paused to breathe, then continued, "how long have you been awake?"

"Twenty five days, three hours and counting, sir. The year is 2260. I believe the Gregorian calendar would state it's May," Israfil answered.

"Where are the others?"

Israfil paused, hesitant. "We have yet to determine that, sir."

"They're in the custody of the UN for planets, basically. Some place called star fleet," Azrael started to say. Before he could finish his thought, the door slid open. Any contentment or relief dissipated instantly with the sound of four footsteps and seven words.

"Would your leader like to recuperate before our discussion?" Osullo asked as he strode confidently through the doorway. His appearance was the same as when he had first awoken Israfil. A pale man with violet eyes, black hair and thin, banded ears the length of his head paced a few steps behind. Both men paused just inside the confines of the room, keeping their distance from their guests.

The sight of the strangers' faces sent an immediate distrust through Khan. He masked his suspicions through a calm, focused stare. "I cannot recall having agreed to any discussion regardless of my present state."

Osullo held both of his hands behind his back. His composure remained unchanged. It was the same demeanor Khan would've expected of a bureaucrat or a con man. "The United Federation is a menace. My people seek to destroy it. Should you succeed, we will grant you and your subjects any planet but our own. Do you still not wish to speak with me?" Osullo asked through a knowing, gentle smile just seamless enough to be ambiguous.

This moment felt disconcertingly familiar.

"Who are you and where have you taken us?" Khan demanded.

"A small planet in the leftmost quadrant of our galaxy, far beyond Starfleet's present knowledge. My name is Osullo," he took a step forward. "It's an honor to finally make your acquaintance, Khan Singh. Your subjects have spoken quite highly of you."

Osullo pulled one hand away from his back, thrust it outright and held it in mid-air, fingers spread and waiting to be shaken. Khan stayed still.

"Then thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Osullo. Where is the rest of my crew?"

Osullo lowered his hand back to his side. His expression remained unchanged. "At this point, we don't know. I assure you, our intel is listening for any word of where they're being held. If you'd like to continue speaking, my assistant compiled a briefing for us in the conference room," he offered. The man beside the door nodded to him.

"You have proven yourself capable of answering a question. Here will do," Khan dismissed.

Khan set the almost empty mug on the ground. He stood up inside the cryotube and stepped down, first to the table and then to the floor. As soon as he was standing firmly, he spoke ahead. "Who are the people of which you speak and why do they seek our help?"

Yet again, Osullo responded with a gentle smile. "We have seen the Federation first-hand through their tampering. Wormholes containing Federation ships have begun to materialize around our borders. One such wormhole has destroyed the atmospheric pressure of this planet. The land outside of this base is uninhabitable to us now. Our probes have relayed data indicating that the atmospheric composition of Earth bears some resemblance to our own. We intend to take it. "

There was plenty of emotion in Osullo's words, but the calm consistency with which they were said felt false to Khan. "To do so would be a declaration of war against dozens of planets," Khan stated critically.

"Preemptively. Prior history indicates it's only a matter of time until the Federation learns of and attempts to subjugate us. We refuse to be absorbed in a bureaucracy of incompetence," Osullo's smile grew a little broader with confidence. "Transmissions we've intercepted indicate that you have an intricate understanding of the Federation's technology. They fear you. We've hoped that you can review our technology; alter our arsenal to exploit their weaknesses."

"There would be little benefit to assisting in your national suicide."

Osullo's masking smile started to subside, but the thoughtful glint in his eyes remained. "If I recall, the reports claimed you ran a terroristic strike with moderate success. The Dominion has a force of thousands, genetically engineered quite similarly to yourself. We will stand. Will you do so with us?"

"I assume you are well aware of my past outcomes with such arrangements. Your promises alone mean nothing."

Osullo took another step towards Khan, leaning in towards his personal space. Khan stood his ground. "I assure you, perhaps in vain, but assure you nonetheless, the founders are fully empathetic to your plight. We don't expect faith from you, only cooperation in a common venture."

"One which relegates me to an unfamiliar territory and at your boundless mercy."

Osullo stopped approaching. He lowered his head in false subservience. "To my understanding, Khan Singh, we're offering you an opportunity for everything you want. Why would you say no?"

"We have to distrust each other. It is our only defense against betrayal."

Khan paused, weighing the few options he had. They were promising too much to only want a consultation. He could kill this Osullo, but he had no way of knowing where they were or how to escape. He could try to refuse, but Osullo could easily leverage their location against them. He could take them at their word, but that would be naïve. "Tell me your plan," he decided.

Osullo shifted his eyes towards his assistant without moving his head. "Brynlon, can you fetch the packets?" he asked cheerfully.

"You know your own intentions. State them yourself."

Osullo's grin twisted his features with what looked like nervous humility. "I may omit a detail or two."

"Which we shall point out for you."

Osullo sighed beneath his breath. "If you're insistent." He closed his eyes, remembering.

"First, we shall create a diversion through the abduction of an enemy ship. I believe there is a race called the Klingons with which we may blame for this. You will keep our prisoners here. Do with them what you wish. As Starfleet mobilizes to outside territory, we'll infiltrate the planet and detonate a terraformer. Once Earth is suitable, we'll position our defensive forces and claim the planet. You may keep this one."

As Osullo spoke, Azrael raised his hand with a rapid flick. "If you, how—"

Israfil leaned into Azrael's shoulder and shushed into his ear, stopping him mid-sentence. Azrael snapped his head towards her, glancing back as if to ask a question without words.

"Go ahead, Azrael," Khan told him.

Still unsteady and uneasy, Azrael turned to face Osullo. "If you'll have to alter the climate either way, why not fix what you have?"

"Our population can't be sustained by our current space for much longer. If we must terraform and face the Federation regardless, we may as well address all three at once," Osullo explained. Azrael lowered his hand and swayed away, seemingly satisfied or at least indifferent.

"Have you selected a target?" Khan asked.

"We have ideas. Do you have a suggestion?"

"The USS Enterprise."

Osullo bobbed his head once. His smile curled with satisfaction. "Then we have."

Once again, Osullo extended his hand to Khan. Khan raised his hand close to himself, at least a foot away from shaking Osullo's.

"I will need full access to your starships' schematics, a basic translation key in your native tongue, a telescope, a map, your full disclosure on all developments regardless of how deeply they seem to concern me or not, and one condition more," Khan stated in a single breath. He paused long enough to infer what he said had been processed before he spoke again. "You do not attach my name to your cause until the rest of my people are by my side. Fail and I will personally solve your overpopulation problem, beginning with you."

Khan watched closely for any signs of hesitance or contemplation. He suspected the other should've paused to think about the conditions. Instead, Osullo had immediately taken Khan's hand into his own and shook it firmly. "I'm glad we've come to an understanding."

Osullo released Khan's grip from his own. He turned his back to the group to face the doorway. "My assistant Brynlon shall stay with you. He'll attend to any requests you may have in my absence. I'd suggest you rest as much as possible. We'll have guests tomorrow."

Without waiting a second longer, Osullo strolled to the door. He whispered to his assistant as he passed by and exited the room.

Khan continued to face forward, watching Osullo's back in cautious scrutiny. Israfil and Azrael both began to approach him. Khan could hear their footsteps, but didn't give them much mind. He was pulled from his thoughts by an unfamiliar voice.

"Is there anything I may find or locate for you, Khan Singh?" the violet-eyed alien asked methodically.

Khan shifted his focus to Brynlon with equal professionalism. "Compile a basic arsenal in the nearest work room. I would prefer to start as soon as possible."

Azrael stepped to the right, leaning away from Khan's back to see Brynlon. He raised his hand. "Oh, and tea with some kind of fruit in it. Pomegranate, maybe. Tea is still a thing, right?"

"I shall leave them at your work stations within the quarter hour. Will that be all?"

"For now," Khan dismissed.

"Your sleeping quarters are in the east-right corridor. Your companions should know the way. Please be as comfortable as possible, Khan Singh." Brynlon gave a single, deep nod of his head which closely resembled a bow. He turned his back to the trio and also left the room.

The instant the door had sealed behind Brynlon, Khan turned his head over his shoulder to face his team. Israfil was standing directly behind him, while Azrael was beside the cryotube, picking his mug off of the floor.

"Do not trust a word they say," Khan told them both.

Israfil bowed back. "Understood, sir."

"You should rest. You look exhausted."

She lowered her head in a distinctly doubtful way. "If you're certain you're alright, sir."

As Israfil continued her bow and Khan considered when he should order her to stop, he was interrupted by the slam of the cryotube door.

"Oi, Shere. I need to talk to you about those Wheel of Time books. Those kept coming out, right?" Azrael called across the room, his eyes widened and eyebrows raised with childish eagerness.

Alert but not alarmed, Khan turned towards Azrael. Israfil raised her head as well, disapproval emanating from her every cell. "Our lord may need to recover, Azrael. This may not be the time."

"Every time is book time," he answered innocently, as if completely unaware that could be a problem.

Khan turned his attention from Azrael to Israfil. "I am perfectly stable, Israfil. You may go."

Israfil sent an inquisitive, doubtful stare back at Khan, silently asking him if he wanted to torture himself. Khan returned her gaze, unflinching. A little bit baffled, Israfil turned her back to the others and left the room as well. The door sealed shut behind her.

Azrael nudged at the bottom of his glasses, pushing the frame up the bridge of his nose in an effort to suppress his growing nerves. It was failing.

"What is wrong that you would not tell me in her presence?" Khan asked.

The mere sound of Khan's voice was enough to make Azrael visibly uncomfortable. He raked his fingers through his hair, ruffling it as he struggled to think.

"It's not really incorrect wrong, but I, uh. I installed dual honing devices in the tubes and the Botany Bay as a sort of contingency thing. If the cryotubes were dislocated from port, the ship and the tubes were supposed to start emitting radio waves. The sound frequency's inaudible to human ears. The waves should transmit for about forty seven kilometers or so, rounding down. Reception'd be strongest on the ship itself, but a hand radio'd do fine enough," Azrael spoke so quickly it was a miracle he hadn't suffocated on his own sentence.

Khan maintained an impenetrable calm while he listened along. "Why was I not told of this?"

"Conserving detail. I meant it as some loopy paranoid thing. I never thought it'd actually happen."

"Do the cryotubes receive outside signals as well?"

"Just the frequency of the ship. It can transmit stuff, but—"

Before Azrael could finish his rambling, Khan gave him a look that caused Azrael to cut himself off mid-sentence. "Recreate the signals if you can. I will demand access to our hosts' resources on your behalf," Khan stated confidently.

"Thank you," Azrael replied politely, each of his words saturated with guilt. Even after Khan had finished speaking, Azrael stood still with his head lowered solemnly.

"My Khan?"

"Yes, Azrael?"

"I've heard of the twelve. I'm sorry for my failure." He gritted his teeth at the end of the sentence, blocking tears he had no right to shed.

Khan should've asked what Azrael was referring to, but he was positive he knew. Eighty four cryotubes had left their prison. Only seventy two of them were functional when the Botany Bay had been found. It was a loss Khan hadn't had time to mourn, and he doubted he would for quite some time.

Khan set one hand firmly on Azrael's shoulder, pulling his attention forward. "We have failed our people many times, Doctor Serra. We must persist to change the average back."

Azrael chuckled glumly beneath his breath. "Pretty inspirational quote to make in a blanket."

Khan removed the blanket Azrael had placed on him earlier from around his shoulders. He tossed the blanket directly at Azrael's torso. The approaching movement forced Azrael to look up. He snatched the blanket from mid-air and clutched it to his chest.

Khan paused before the exit. He glimpsed over his shoulder for just long enough to speak.

"Shall we begin?"


	4. Sheep's Clothing

**Chapter Three:** Sheep's Clothing

Exotic music filled the air of the Argelian club. Three gorgeous women in beaded tops and sheer flowing skirts danced onstage as if pushed by the music itself. Every table around the stage was full with patrons, many of them Starfleet, all of them male, happily observing the show. The opposite side of the room was almost empty with two exceptions.

Kirk and Scotty sat at the dimly lit bar, surrounded by empty glasses. Kirk was leaning back in his chair with his head turned towards the stage, watching from afar. Scotty hunched over the counter, his stance lopsided and presumably drunk.

"They're creating the same kind of hole in space that brought us the evil future mine ship on purpose. There're time holes in black holes, and black holes and worm holes are one miscalibration away from being the same bloody thing. It's a dumb move by stupid people!" Scotty exclaimed, his words garbled through intoxication.

Kirk turned to face Scotty, seemingly unimpressed. "If I understood what you meant, I'm sure I'd agree with you."

Scotty downed the last sip of his sixth glass with a deep swig and slapped it furiously against the table. "The federation's stuck its head up its arse again, that's what I mean. They've got the science unit saying lets boldly go find the heart of the universe and poke it with a stick! I'm telling you, we're lucky if we make it three weeks without some tosser piercing a hole in a planet's core or waking up space Hitler!" he ranted, his voice raising so high one of the other patrons had turned to look at him.

Kirk continued to watch with mild astonishment. "I need to order what you're drinking."

Scotty gripped his empty glass and raised it triumphantly. "Whiskey. Can't go wrong. Unless it's warm. Or cheap. Or American."

As Scotty moved his glass through the air, he stared towards the dancer at the center of the stage. A smile came over him. "Look at her. Now that's a sight to ease the end of the world."

"You should offer her a drink. Maybe she'd like you."

Kirk raised his hand to Scotty's back and gave him a pat on the shoulder, gradually trying to push Scotty's arm down. He stood up from his stool and walked to the other side of the bar. He could hear the clinks and thuds of moving bottles, so he presumed someone was here. He slapped his hand against the counter, calling for attention "Hey, can I get a whiskey?"

"If you mean the Speyside, we're out. We've got a clan Campbell, or you could go for the Skagaran. Our Skagaran is shit, by the way, so don't," a female voice chimed from beneath the counter, faintly melodic yet unusually blunt.

"Then I'll take the one that isn't awful."

"Good plan."

Bottles clinked beneath the bar as the bartender poured him a half glass of whiskey. Her hand reached over the counter to set the whiskey in front of Kirk. Kirk took the glass in his right hand. He took a sip and stared down in a search for the source of the voice.

Just as he caught a glimpse of a shoulder, the bartender emerged from beneath the bar. A girl with a copper-colored, frizzy inverted bob, almond-shaped eyes and thick, angled eyebrows leaned over the counter-top. The collar of her aviator jacket knocked her hair further astray.

"So how'd you steal the captain's tunic?" she asked with obvious interest. Kirk looked to her, curious and about to say something. Before he could, she spoke again. "Federation comes here all the time. I know the rings." She pointed towards his sleeve.

Amused, Kirk put on his best subtle, smugly endearing smile. "Sorry to crush your observation, but I have the captain's shirt because I am the captain."

"You look good for over forty. Does your race not age or something?" she asked back, blunt and seemingly oblivious.

Kirk set his glass back on the counter. He leaned towards the bar as well, turning his back to Scotty in the process. "Iowa. I'm human, I promise, and thank you. You're quite charming no matter how old you are."

The bartender flicked her wrist, pointing towards the cluster of glasses Kirk had left in his wake. "You drank five Andorians in an hour and a half. If you were human, you'd be flopping on the floor confessing your love to a stool."

Kirk's smile faded slightly. He took a sip from his drink to bide time before responding. "Also what I expected. Not what happened. I must've been asking the wrong bartender," he said flirtatiously.

The bartender set both of her elbows against the counter. She set both hands under her chin and leaned against them, moving closer to Kirk."So what class ship you got, captain human?"

"Constitution. The USS Enterprise. My name's Kirk, by the way. James Kirk. There'd be a lot of Captain Humans if that's how we talked about ourselves."

The mention of Kirk's name caused the bartender's eyes to widen with recognition. She practically bounced with excitement. "Oh! Oh, you're that guy! The captain by default. I've heard a lot of people complain about you. I believe the exact words were over-pompous, lucky douchebag!"

"My infamy precedes me. Good to know."

"No. Or yes, sort of, but terrorist-catcher sort of trumps ego jerk and I should not be making you pay for this drink."

"Why don't you let me buy you one and consider it even?"

"Because I already have the booze. I can take it if I needed one. But thanks."

"Can I at least have your name?"

"It's Dray." The bartender paused in contemplation. She ran a hand through her hair and craned her neck in an effort to be coyly sensual which succeeded only at the second part. "I've never seen a constitution class. This port's usually too far for them."

"Do you want to see the ship? I can show you, if you'd like"

"The bridge or the bedroom?"

"Whichever you'd like to see. What time do you get off?"

"Depends on how hard the work is and who's there to help me."

Kirk cast his empty glass to the side. He stared at her with confidence and an alluring smirk. "I've been told I'm _very_ helpful."

Dray set her hand back against the counter. She hunched over just enough that she could stare directly down at Kirk. "You know this is innuendo, right?"

It had been so obvious that it took a second for Kirk to figure out how it could have been anything but. "I was doubtful but optimistic."

Dray turned away from Kirk and began to walk around the counter. "I can show you the cellar in five minutes. Just let me go tell my girlfriend."

Yet again, Kirk's thought process and expression froze with mild bewilderment, this time at his own luck. "Would she want to join us?"

"Not that kind of girlfriend. She's already turned me down. But you could ask her, if you want." Dray gestured towards a black-haired waitress at one of the tables as she rounded the bar. She strode past the empty chairs and into the crowd.

With his eyes still on Dray, Kirk rose from his seat. He walked alongside the otherwise empty bar, back to Scotty. He set his hand on Scotty's shoulder, drawing his attention.

"Stay put. I'll be back in an hour."

Scotty swiveled in his stool to keep his glassy eyes on Kirk. His head flopped down as if considerably heavier than usual. "What are you gonna do, go moisturize?" he slurred. Kirk didn't respond, already walking away.

With no one else there to stop him, Scotty reached across the counter. He grabbed Kirk's half-finished whiskey from the point it had slid to and downed it as well.

A patron at the front of the room turned his head over his shoulder towards the bar. He stared at Scotty in silent scrutiny, lowered his head and stood up. The patron walked towards the back of the room.

* * *

It had been hours since the crew had been dismissed for the night, and the science facilities of the USS Enterprise were appropriately deserted. A single set of footsteps tapped across the floor as Spock walked through the corridor. The faint lighting increased automatically as he approached the doors to the medical bay. The doors slid open.

A single light shone from a microscope on the back table, revealing the outline of a person. Bones hunched over the microscope, staring through the viewfinder with increasing exasperation.

The overhead lights flashed on as Spock crossed into the room. He came to a stop just beyond the doorway. Bones lowered his head in an effort to ignore it.

"Have you located the abnormality, doctor?" Spock asked.

Bones lifted his head away from the microscope. He looked back at Spock through an exhausted stare, allowing the context of his being here to explain it for him. Spock continued to cross the room.

"A verbal response would be more effective," Spock suggested, though his tone implied it was more of a statement.

Bones lowered his head while maintaining the same stare. He exhaled deeply. "I've found the what. I don't know why."

Rather than let Spock ask to consult, Bones reached across the counter for the tricorder he'd been using. He turned on the screen and offered it out to Spock.

"There are higher concentrations of endorphins and cytokines in his blood. The cytokines are why his immune response was off. He may not have felt the chance because most of the ox-40 receptors on his t-cells have sealed themselves. There are no pathogens in his blood, and this isn't a match for any known disorder," Bones explained. He watched as Spock scrolled through the screen, reviewing the data for himself.

"Have you found any foreign substances in the hair sample? That may give us a longer record of potential contaminants."

"No, but I did see both ends seal themselves after I broke the strand," Bones answered frankly.

Spock looked up from the screen. "A dead substance cannot change, doctor."

"Yes, that's why I know it's not dead."

"You must have observed incorrectly."

Bones set one hand atop the microscope's viewing head and shifted it towards Spock. He shifted his stance so he was directly facing him, countering his skepticism with an equally serious stare. "Look at it yourself."

Nowhere near convinced, but not in a clear enough position to refute it, either, Spock approached the microscope. He adjusted both of the focus knobs to fit his eyes and leaned in to see.

The ordinary composition of a piece of human hair was simple. A single strand would be covered in the outer sheath of the cuticle, which bore some resemblance to a tree, with numerous layers of other structures inside. The follicle, which contained the living fiber, would form a distinct end, and the cuticle would form the closure on the other side. However, the strand of hair under the microscope had no follicle, as if it had grown from itself.

Bones stood a few feet away, watching for Spock's reaction, if there was any he could see. "The strand's identical the entire way through. The core shows traces of blood. If I hadn't pulled it out myself, I'd say it wasn't his."

Sufficiently convinced that something was wrong, Spock turned off the microscope. "Have you cross-referenced your findings with our database of known life forms?"

The words themselves weren't that threatening, but their implications sent a wave of discomfort through Bones. Those databases were meant to identify species, not diseases.

"I was hoping you wouldn't ask that."

Reluctantly, Bones grabbed the tricorder off of the counter. He flipped through various screens to enter the previous readings through the database.

The thick, tense silence filled the empty space between Bones and Spock. Bones gripped both sides of the tricorder as he waited for the results to come through. Within the first ten seconds, an overview of human biology had appeared on screen. Bones let out a deep breath, a wave of relief flowing through him. He began to set the tricorder down.

Just as Bones' hand had brushed against the counter, an entry that Bones himself had written appeared over the first result. It was an auxiliary page on augmented humans; specifically the readings they had taken on Khan. Kirk's sample had been flagged as an eighty two percent match.

As the text came into view and his understanding followed, Bones slammed the tricorder against the counter. He pressed his hand against his face and slumped against the wall beside him. "Damnit, how…!"

Spock stood by, observing through a forcibly detached calm. He closed his eyes for a moment to collect himself before breaking the silence.

"We should notify command of his condition at once. He may be compromised."

Bones snapped his head upright, temporarily displacing his anger onto Spock. "Are you insane? You can't report this before he knows. You may as well hit him with a semi-and run him back over to make sure you got him!"

Spock held the exact same expression while speaking in a slightly slower way. "Do you wish to inform him or shall I?"

Bones started to speak, but stopped himself before the sound could form. He shrunk upon himself as his the reality of the situation sank further in, and the fury in his eyes faded to hollow resignation.

"I'll do it."

Bones pushed up his sleeve, revealing his communicator. He pressed the corresponding button and spoke into the receiver with a distinct, unnerving lack of inflection. "Jim, pick up. You need to get back to the ship. Jim—"

* * *

A bare light bulb hung from the ceiling in the back corner of the storage room, its pull chain was still swaying. The impressions of two bodies pressed against each other were obscured by shelves of bottles and plates. Even from the entrance, a close observer could catch a glimpse of Kirk's face through the rounded glasses. He leaned against the back wall and into the girl who was passionately kissing his neck. A knock pounded at the door, shaking the bottles with the impact.

"Dray! I need you out here! Preferably now!" a voice Kirk didn't recognize called into the room.

Dray's expression contorted with a mix of panic and discomfort. She pulled away from Kirk. "Shit of crap."

Dray pressed both of her hands against Kirk, nudging him back towards the wall. She craned her head around the side of the shelf, peeking towards the door. "Three seconds!"

Kirk leaned against the wall in a moment of uncertainty. He watched as Dray grabbed her blouse off a stray table and wriggled back into it. He looked to his right, where Dray's jacket was dangling from a picture frame. Kirk picked the jacket off of the corner. He held it out to her.

While she was still adjusting the shirt, Dray snatched the jacket from Kirk's grasp. She took Kirk by both shoulders and pushed him towards the back of the room. The gesture was so soft that Kirk could barely feel it, but he followed along as if she was guiding him towards the door at the back. Another knock rocked the door.

Kirk started to speak. "I can—"

Dray gave Kirk what she meant to be a final shove towards the door. It was so sudden that Kirk didn't step back. Dray reached under Kirk's arm and pushed the door open. "Come back through the front. Good, thank you."

Before Kirk could argue, Dray gave Kirk another shove outside the room. Kirk tried to cooperate by stepping through the door. He raised both hands in a gesture of surrender. "It's—"

With a forceful yet silent click, Dray closed the door. Its edges vanished seamlessly into the gray brick wall, leaving nothing but a solid line. The slam of a second door's impact echoed from the other side.

Kirk stood alone in the empty alleyway. A heavy cloud of fog concealed the ground below. An equally impermeable mist hung over the sky, and the walls around him seemed to twist in a maze between buildings. He turned towards his right and looked out of the alleyway. Barely two people were outside, mulling around the other buildings for reasons he couldn't guess or tell.

"Jim, this is urgent. We need you back on the ship," Bones' voice sounded through the communicator, breaking the silence around him.

Kirk turned his back to the exit. He raised the communicator to his mouth and picked up the call. "Soon as I can convince Scotty what direction straight is, I'll be there."

Before Bones could say anything else, Kirk hung up the communicator. He took another step towards the street. As his foot brushed the pavement, he heard a sound behind him.

"Captain," a strained voice with a distinctly Scottish accent echoed through the way. The last syllables faded with the pain of speaking.

Kirk stopped in place. He looked back into the alleyway. "Scotty? Are you ok? …Scotty?" he called with increasing concern. There was no reply.

Kirk set one hand to his side, his fingers hovering over his phaser's holster. His senses sharpened with rising tension as he listened for anything at all. The muffled sounds of conversation crept through the brick wall as he walked past the door, deeper into the alleyway. He could see an intersection in the path ahead as he approached the back of the building.

A pained moan sounded from Kirk's right. He turned towards the noise. "Scotty?" Again, silence. Kirk rounded the corner, following the noise.

A blurry, human shaped figure stood at the center of the alley, submerged in the shadows and fog. The second that Kirk was standing in its range, the figure lunged towards Kirk with a butcher's knife and plunged the blade directly into Kirk's stomach.

For a second, everything around Kirk seemed to freeze in overwhelming pain as the blade pulled him down. He could see his blood trickling down his leg, and the familiar hands of the man who'd assaulted him. Their already red sleeves were stained with splatter marks.

Barely standing and struggling to breathe, Kirk tried to grab his phaser. The figure pushed the blade in deeper, twisted the knife and started to pull away from Kirk. Before it could, Kirk clutched his left hand in a fist and aimed a punch under the creature's nose.

For the first second, Kirk had felt his hand brush solid mass, but as he drew closer in, the nose he meant to be hitting seemed to retract into the creature's face, forcing the punch to miss and knocking him off-balance.

The creature dodged to the left and thrust the knife towards Kirk's neck. Kirk pulled back. He raised his right hand in front of himself, grabbed the knife blade-first and yanked the creature towards him. Only then did Kirk lift his head enough to see the entirety of who was there. It looked like Scotty.

Kirk paused, his mind reeling. That second of hesitation was all the opportunity the lookalike had needed. A phaser blast fired from the other side of the alley and struck Kirk in the back of the neck. The knife's blade slipped from Kirk's hands. He collapsed face-first across the cobblestone, paralyzed.

The fake Scotty planted his foot atop Kirk's head. He stabbed the knife twice into Kirk's body and pulled back with the knife no longer in hand. The figure's footsteps tapped against the stone. His shirt, hair and body began to morph, his engineering uniform shifting into the captain's yellow as he left the scene and Kirk behind.

Kirk lay across the cobblestone, eyes open, staring at a plain brick wall. He stopped breathing.

* * *

A/N: Please don't stop reading because of those last two sentences. This will make sense, I promise.


End file.
